


Good omens, Night Vale

by rosewrappedstaff



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos is Human, Cecil Is Not Described, Collaboration, Crossover, I Blame Tumblr, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I swear nobody's going to die, I'm Bad At Titles, I'm Going to Hell, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Protective Crowley, Reeducation is mentioned, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, What Have I Done, probably, this is a mess, trashfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 03:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17675834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewrappedstaff/pseuds/rosewrappedstaff
Summary: Angels (which do not legally exist) have come to town! Or rather, an angel and a demon. Rated T for possible languages that no one can understand[Discontinued]





	1. Chapter 1

It was a good thing no humans were around, for if they had been, they would've seen only a black streak racing by, kicking up enough dirt and debris to cover the sun.

 

“Must you go this quickly?” Aziraphale shouted over the roar of the engine.

 

“No,” Crowley pressed the pedal down further.

 

_ “Slow down! You're doing 147 at a 40 speed limit!” _

 

“And you're worried because…?”

 

_ “It's illegal!” _

 

“And why should I care?”

 

_ “Because you could get us killed!” _

 

Crowley looked over to his lover. 

 

“Discorporated,” the angel corrected.

 

“We'll be fine!” Crowley replied, waving his hand dismissively.

 

“At least keep both hands on the steering wheel!” 

 

Music blared out of the radio, but Aziraphale hardly noticed. His knuckles were whiter than they normally were, and clenched on the armrests.

 

The car's speed had just inched past 160 when Aziraphale screamed.

 

“ _ Deer!” _

 

Crowley looked over, confused. “Yes, angel?”

 

“Watch out!”

 

Crowley looked up in time to see a large deer suddenly disappear, then reappear on the side of the road.

 

“Next time, slow down.” Aziraphale grumbled. 

 

“You know that's not going to happen,” Crowley smirked.

 

Aziraphale sighed. “It was worth a try, wasn't it?”

 

“Almost certainly not.”

 

Both entities left silence for the music to play several minutes straight, not having anything much to say. 

 

Aziraphale sighed softly, looking out the window.  “I thought we were going to London, not the desert,” he commented, drawing his eyebrows together.  

 

“Pardon?” Crowley tore his eyes away from Aziraphale and looked out the window.

 

“Bloody hell, we  _ are _ in the desert!” His voice held shock and a bit of amusement. “Did you do that?”

 

“No, I was going to ask you the same thing.”

 

Crowley looked back over to the angel. “Can you miracle us back?” he asked tentatively.  

 

“I'm afraid I don't know how--” He closed his book with one hand-- “so this should be  _ very  _ interesting.” 

 

“My Bentley will get damaged!” The demon complained.

 

“By the sun? The sand? The...what is  _ that?” _

 

Crowley squinted at something off in the distance. “It appears to be a...glowing cloud of some sort.”

 

At this Aziraphale snorted. “Don't be ridiculous. Glowing clouds don't exist. I'm sure it's just a trick of the darkness.”

 

“Angel, we've been over this before. It's trick of the  _ light _ , not trick of the  _ darkness.  _ You're an angel. You should know this.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

At that moment, the car radio crackled, then went silent, before a man's voice became audible.

 

_...angels - which, I would like to remind everyone -  _ don't _ exist- _

 

Aziraphale laughed mirthlessly. “Atheist, perhaps?”

 

Crowley shrugged. “These days, who knows?”


	2. Chapter 2

Carlos sighed as he turned off the last light in the lab, looking up to check the time - then remembering that time didn't really exist in Night Vale. He also didn't keep a clock in the lab. Really, he was just tired. As most tired people do after work, he got his car and started to drive home. 

 

This being generally moon-going-off-the-horizon time, his car radio turned itself on. 

 

**_There is a reason wishes don't come true. That reason is classified. Welcome to Night Vale._ **

 

As much as he liked his husband's voice, the scientist sometimes wished the things he said made more sense. Of course, he laughed. “Oh, Cecil. How do you even come up with this stuff?”

 

**_Well, Carlos, I don't actually know._ **

 

This didn't confuse Carlos. He had gotten used to the hidden cameras and microphones the Sheriff's Secret Police put everywhere. 

 

“Oh, and Cecil?”

 

**_Yes, my perfect Carlos?_ **

 

”I love you.”

 

**_I love you too, Carlos._ **

 

“Bye Cecil. I'll see you later.”

 

As Carlos drove through the streets, thoughts flew through his mind. Mostly about Cecil and  science of course, but others about, well, actually, they were all about Cecil and science. 

 

What tore him away from his thoughts was a black car - a Bentley, he thought - speeding through the streets of the town. He dismissed that as something normal (Well, as normal as it could be in Night Vale, that is) and kept driving.

 

What did draw his attention was the Bentley taking a sudden, screeching U-turn and drive past him again, the occupants seemingly engaged in an argument. The car pulled over on the other end of the spectrum, and Carlos thought that maybe they were lost. He didn't recognize them, but Night Vale did occasionally drag new people into its borders. 

 

As the pair got out of the Bentley, Carlos hopped out of his own Blue Toyota and walked over.

 

“Hi. I'm Carlos. Are you two lost?” He inquired.

 

The pair looked over. “Yes, we are in fact lost. Where exactly  _ are _ we?”

 

The scientist smiled. “You're in Night Vale.”

 

“Pardon?” the man asked.

 

“You're in Night Vale,” he repeated.

 

“Could you tell us where Night Vale is?” 

 

“The desert.”

 

“Yes, we saw the sand!” The man gestured wildly. “But, where in England are we?”

 

“Well, you see, you aren't in England, you're in the United States. I think. Somewhere in there.” 

 

“I'm sorry,  _ what?! _ ” The other man shouted, “How exactly do you expect us to believe we got from southern England into the  _ U.S.?!” _

 

“Do I sound British to you?” Carlos laughed. “You don't have to believe it, but it's true.”

 

“Please, dear,” the first man chided, “Do you know how we could possibly get back?”

 

“Nope! Afraid not. Wait...let me ask Cecil.” Carlos jogged back to his car. “Hey, Cecil? Is there any way to get out of Night Vale?”

 

**_Why do you want to know?_ **

 

“Some people-” At the word  _ people _ , the second man laughed quietly. “Some people want to get out.”

 

**_There is no way out that I know of other than death. Oh! Did I mention that we have a new intern? Say hi, Intern Jeanine!_ **

 

_ Oh, that poor, poor, person. _ Carlos thought. “Thanks anyway, Cec. Love you.” He didn't wait for a response, not because he didn't want to hear it, but because the two Englishmen looked like they were about to fight. 

 

“Um, so I just talked to Cecil, and-” Carlos was interrupted by one of the Englishmen.

 

“Wait, how? There was no one in the car! And you didn't make a phone call.”

 

“Well, Cecil is the radio host, and he hears everything, sees everything. So I asked him a question and he answered back over the radio,” Carlos quickly explained. 

 

“Anyways, he said there was no way out of Night Vale that he knew of, other than death.”

 

“ _ Not _ a pleasant guy,” the Englishman in black muttered. 

 

“Neither are you, dear,” the one in tan and blue replied, turning back to Carlos. “You'll have to forgive us, this is quite different than back home. Now, if we can't leave for the time being, what should we do?”

 

“Try not to die in some horrible way. Oh, yeah. I forgot to ask who you are. So...who are you?”

 

“Anthony Crowley,” the one in black introduced himself, making no move to shake Carlos’ hand.

 

“I'm Ezra,” the other one smiled and shook Carlos’ hand quite calmly.  “But about the ‘not dying horribly’ bit, what exactly did you mean?”

 

“Night Vale has a... surprisingly high death rate,” Carlos admitted. His phone buzzed. Quickly checking it, he groaned. 

 

“Come on Cec. You have to at least  _ try _ and keep them alive!” He muttered.

 

“Keep  _ whom _ alive?” Ezra asked, fiddling with his jacket cuffs.

 

“Intern Jeanine just died. She-oh God, that must have been painful for her,” 

“Oh my,” he whispered, dropping his cuffs, “And she was so young.” 

 

Carlos looked back down at his phone, looking very confused. “Or… apparently she's alive and uninjured...?” 

 

Anthony looked sharply to his friend, who looked guilty back. “I couldn't help it,” he murmured softly.

 

“That should be impossible, as she was kind of taking pictures of Khoshekh. Er, the station cat,” he classified. 

 

“What is it now, Cec?” He muttered, checking his phone as it rang once again.

 

“WHAT?!” Carlos almost dropped his phone. “There's no way!”

 

Tony rolled his eyes.  “What now?” 

 

“Would you two be opposed to a radio interview?”

 

“Pardon?” Ezra looked confused.

 

“Cecil wants to interview you two for some reason. He didn't say why.”

 

Ezra and Anthony looked at each other for a moment before turning back to Carlos.

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“Of course!”

 

Carlos stared at them for a moment. “Was that a yes or no?”

 

The two turned to each other,  speaking in hushed tones. “It couldn't hurt, dear. Radio interviews never really reveal dark secrets anyway.” 

 

“And you're willing to risk that, angel?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

Tony crossed his arms. “Fine, but I'm in charge. Deal?”

 

Ezra nodded, turning back to Carlos. “We'll do it. Could you show us the way?”

 

Carlos’ phone rang. “Cecil says 'Yay!’ with a lot of smiley face emoji.” He smiled at his husband's immaturity. 

 

“So...just follow me in your car, ok? I'll lead you to the radio station.”

 

“That is what I meant, yes. We'll follow. Oh, and, I'll drive this time.”


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale could tell that he was in trouble when Crowley whipped off his sunglasses.

 

“What the bloody  _ hell _ were you thinking?!”

 

The angel rubbed his face. “I couldn't help it, that girl was 19.”

 

“You know  _ very _ well that you  _ aren't. Allowed. To do that!” _

 

“I know, I'll have Heaven breathing down my neck for decades if they find out.  _ When _ they find out.”

 

Crowley sighed. “Start driving. We don't want to lose track of the human.”

 

“You could use his name,” he mumbled, driving after the Toyota.

 

“What’s the point? I'll forget about him in a few decades.”

 

“But he'll remember you for his lifetime. Wouldn't you want it to be fondly?” 

 

“No,” Crowley put his sunglasses back on.

 

“I assume we'll be friends for the purpose of the interview?”

 

“Fine.” Crowley one again used a one-syllable answer.

 

“Thank you,” the angel murmured.

 

They drove in silence for a few minutes, until Carlos’ car stopped in front of a building.

 

“You're sure you're okay with this?” Aziraphale asked, putting a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. 

 

Crowley sighed. “Like you said, it couldn't hurt,” he muttered grudgingly. “But no more miracles, got it?” He added sharply.

 

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

 

The pair got out, Crowley clamping the tires with a surreptitious wave, and followed their stereotypically scientist-looking guide inside. 

 

They soon reached a door that had the sign “On Air” written on it.

 

“Wait here,” he ordered, knocking on a door next to the On Air one. A black-haired girl peeked out hesitantly, pulling back in quickly. 

 

After a somewhat awkward minute, a man walked out from the On Air door, closing it behind him. Something about his appearance made Aziraphale uncomfortable with looking him in the eyes, so he opted to look off to the side of his head.

 

“Ezra and Anthony?”  

 

“Yeah, that's us,” the demon confirmed, instinctively reaching for his counterpart’s hand. 

 

“Great! Come on in, we've only got a minute before you're on-air.”

 

“I'm going to go home, Cec. I'll be there when you get back,” Carlos hugged the man, before heading for the exit. 

 

“Bye!” Cecil called before heading into the room, followed soon after by two very reluctant entities.

  1. * * *




 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the rapid upload pace while it lasts!


	4. Chapter 4

It was completely silent in the room when the door closed. So silent, Aziraphale hardly dared to breathe. In fact, he didn't. 

 

“Now,” their host began, “You'll need these. The voice feedback can be weird, but you'll get used to it.” He handed them both a set of headphones. 

 

Crowley took his cautiously, treating it as if it contained holy water, but Aziraphale was a little more eager to take his and put it on, inspiring his swain to follow suit.

 

“Alright, we're on air in three, two..” Cecil mouthed  _ one,  _ then turned to the microphone.

 

“Today listeners, we have a very special set of guests: two outsiders of, shall we say, different stock than you or me. Joining me today are Ezra Fell and Anthony J. Crowley. Welcome to my show, Ezra and Anthony!”

 

“Um...it's good to be here, I guess?” Aziraphale spoke into his headset.

 

“Yes,  _ good.” _ Crowley scowled at the angel.

 

Cecil, oblivious to Aziraphale's uncertainty, forged onward. “So, you two are from England, right?” 

 

“Yeah, we are.” 

 

“He doesn't _ sound _ like he is from England,” 

 

“Is that a problem?” the demon asked, starting through his glasses at the radio host.

 

“Yes.”

 

That statement left the two entities speechless for a moment.

 

“Give me one good reason I shouldn't-”

 

“You can't.” Aziraphale interrupted.

 

“I think I can.”

 

“Dear, please.” 

 

Cecil’s eyes were flicking between the two, clearly trying to hide a smile. “Gentlemen, I apologize for the misunderstanding, let's move on.”

 

Crowley sighed. “Alright, fine. But next time…”

 

“There won't  _ be _ a next time, dear.” Aziraphale interjected.

 

“Let’s just move on.” 

 

“Yes, moving on,” their host agreed, “What do you two do for a living?”

 

“I sell rare books.” My collection used to be extensive, but unfortunately a fire ravaged my shop and- “ the angel sighed, “-well, insurance can only do font so much.”

 

“Not only rare, old, and  _ very _ flammable,” Crowley muttered under his breath - which, didn't do much good, as everything he said was being broadcast over radio. 

 

“Yes, things made of flammable objects tend to catch fire easily,” Cecil agreed, “Oh, I nearly forgot!  What do you do, Anthony- can I call you Tony?”

 

“No.” Crowley stated bluntly. 

 

“Alright, my bad. But what do you do?”

 

“It's none of your business what I do.” 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale pleaded.

 

“No, no, it's fine. Whatever you do seems pretty secretive anyway.” 

 

“It is.”

 

“Alright, one more question. Why are you wearing sunglasses indoors?”

 

“Because I want to, is that bothering you?”

 

“Yes, actually.”

 

“Well, that's too bad.”

 

“I think the reason you don't take them off is because you don't like your eyes.” Cecil commented.

 

Crowley clenched his teeth. “I wear them becausse I  _ want to. _ ”

 

“You and I both know that's not true,” Cecil replied, oblivious to Crowley's anger.

 

Aziraphale wordlessly put a hand on the demon’s shoulder with a meaningful look.

 

“No,  _ you _ don't know anything.”

 

“I wouldn't say that. For one, I know that  _ he _ -” Cecil pointed to Aziraphale- “doesn't legally exist. And you-” he pointed to Crowley- “would give  _ anything _ to be like him again.”

 

Crowley practically glowed with anger - no, he didn't so much as glow than suck in all the light around him, creating a dark aura that seemed cold and endless. “You don't know the firsst thing about either of usss. And I ssssuggest you sstop that line of thinking right now.”

 

“I have a duty, and I'm doing it. Now, Crowley, why are you ashamed of your eyes?”

 

“ _ I'm not _ !”

 

“Then prove it.”

 

“Why ssshould I?” Crowley hissed back.

 

“Dear, please-” Aziraphale tried to cut in, but failed.

 

“-because if you don't, I'll let that and more go on air. And that's not what you want, is it?” 

 

For a moment Aziraphale thought Crowley would either spontaneously combust, destroy Cecil, or something worse. But he didn't.

 

Instead, he growled before taking his sunglasses off to reveal his yellow, slit-pupiled eyes. “Are you happy?”

 

“Happiness is an illusion that is easily shattered,” Cecil quoted. “In terms of ‘happiness’ I suppose I am happy.”

 

“Great.” Crowley muttered, before quickly putting his shades on again. “We're leaving, come on angel.” 

 

Somewhere off in the distance, a siren sounded. 

 

“Angels don't exist!” Cecil spoke sharply. “Great. That's the angel-acknowledgement siren. Reeducation for all of us.”

 

“What's reeducation? Aziraphale asked, instinctively grabbing his swain’s hand. 

 

Crowley paled. “They can't hurt usss. I won't let them.”

 

“This is my...what, fifteenth time?” Cecil muttered. “Ugh.”

 

“How are you even  _ alive _ after that?” the demon marvelled, “Nevermind. Azzzz, you remember how to disssappear people, right?” 

 

“I’d rather I didn't, but what- why would I need to?”

 

“Well, if we are all going to reeducation, we need to get out of here!”

 

“You can't escape the Secret Police,” the radio host mourned, “People have tried.”

 

“Then we'd better sssstart running.”


End file.
